Unlocking the Depths
by CharlotteBlackwood
Summary: Apparently, you can go back. Helene revisits the places of her tragic youth in search of answers and finds danger, heartbreak, and love. The question becomes, is it still worth it, knowing that her life could end at any careless moment? SS/OC, some RL/OC, fair amount of SB/OC, M-rated.
1. Prologue: July, 1981

**A/N: This is going to be a long Severus/OC, over 100 chapters. I PROMISE A HAPPY ENDING (and I don't do that very often, so if you're excited about that you should be!)! So sit back, enjoy. This plot actually came to me in a dream, so that's cool.**

** -C**

"We're moving to China."

Mr. Vibius Abramsen and his wife, Kayleah, had announced this to their seven children one Sunday morning, and the two straight days of packing and refreshing the children on their children on Chinese had begun.

At first, Helene, the second child and aged twelve, had thought the whole thing a wonderful adventure and packed in earnest.

However, by lunch time, her elder sister Virginia explained that this wasn't a holiday - they were leaving _forever_.

"But I _can't_ leave forever!" Helene whined. "What about Hogwarts? I wanted to see Heidi Sorted into Hufflepuff as well!"

Virginia scrunched her nose.

"Heidi would be a Ravenclaw, obviously," Virginia told her sister. "But none of that matters, because we won't be _going_ back to Hogwarts. We're going to China."

Of course, when Helene began to cry as she continued her now-laborious packing, nobody thought to tell the distraught girl that if she stayed long enough to go to Hogwarts, she would die.

Vibius was the Head of the Hit-Wizards, which was bad enough in a time of war, but Kayleah happened to be a renowned author, covering issues of rights for Muggle-borns.

Ever since Voldemort had started gathering power, the Abramsen family had been practicing the Chinese Kayleah was learning as rapidly as possible, and Virginia, at fourteen, was the only one who understood the pressing need to learn, to pack, to run and hide, although why now and not some other time was a mystery to her.

As it was, Virginia was too busy sulking over the likelihood of never seeing her friends again that she cared little over her sister's distress and didn't try to explain why it was necessary.

And their parents were so panicked, so frantic, that they didn't realize that only Virginia understood the urgency.

When Virginia finished her packing she was ordered to finish Leon, the baby, packing while their father took care of more general things and their mother reviewed Chinese with Heidi and Hillary as she oversaw their packing.

Virginia's absence left Helene quite alone to sulk. She did not want to finish, partly because she knew she'd be asked to help three-year-old Ely, and mostly because she simply did not want to leave.

She cried for a bit on the second day, refusing to leave the familiar safety of her room when Charlie called up to say that food was ready. Eventually her father ordered her to eat, and Helene knew better than to disobey her father when he was in a tizzy, but indeed no one at all paid her any attention when she came down and ate a quick and sandwich. She returned to her room not minutes later and began, once more to cry.

"Not finished yet?" Virginia asked, scrunching her nose again when she came back for bed. "Mum won't be pleased. I finished Leon and Ely today, and I know Mum expects you to help with Charlie tomorrow while she checks our Chinese."

"I don't want to learn Chinese," Helen cried, desperate to convey in her tone all of the injustice of her position. "I don't _want_ to go to Hogwarts! Lexi's family will take me in! Or Orla, or Madara, or even Smilta and Klytie! If they only _knew_ they would keep me! I don't _want_ to go! I _can't_ go!"

If she hadn't been so distraught she would have shivered at the thought of staying with her sworn enemies, Smilta and Klytie Smith, but at the moment, anything and everything appeared preferable to Helene.

Virginia just rolled her eyes, turned over in bed, and ignored her stupid little sister, trying not to think of all the places _she'd_ rather go than China, but she at least knew that it was important, if not why China specifically had become the destination of so many blondes.

Helene worked even more slowly on the third day, but even so there was not much left and she had finished by lunch.

Virginia was already working on packing Charlie's things when Helene was sent in by their father. Their mother was quizzing Virginia on her Chinese and was just saying, "That's quite perfect as well," when Helene entered.

"Finally finished, then?" Mrs. Abramsen asked her daughter. "Go ahead and get started on the toys, then, and why don't you start by introducing yourself in Chinese?"

Helene nodded thickly, moving toys from their chest to the trunk at her sister's feet with the numbness of dread in every motion. Her Chinese was thick as well, poorly accented on top of completely forgetting how to say her age.

After several corrections and running through the same scripted bit several times, Helene's mother finally gave a bitter sigh and said, "Well, I suppose that will have to do for now. Why you can't apply yourself like Virginia... Heidi is already conversationally fluent, you know."

"Tears sprang to Helene's eyes at this reminder that her younger sister ought to be joining Ravenclaw, not going to China. But the tears remained unshed, and Helene just hung her head in her shame.

"Well, go and fetch Charlie's coat from the front hall," her mother ordered. "Virginia, dear, order lunch for me, will you?"

Virginia proceeded to smugly and perfectly order her favorite Chinese pork dishes as Helene went to the front hall to get her brother's rain coat.

It occurred to her as she walked that she probably should have applied herself a bit more to her Chinese, as now it seemed almost certain that they would, in fact, be leaving for China in the morning. Her lifelong home now felt like a skeleton, just trying to get rid of the last of the muscle clinging to its aging bonds.

With a shaking hand she opened the door to the nearly-empty hall closet, seeing the very last raincoat hanging, lonely, on the very last hanger.

Helene was just unzipping the coat to take it off the hanger - which would be packed separately - when several things happened at once.

One of these things was the sound of glass shattering down the hall.

Another was several people shrieking at once so that Helene could not make out which people they were.

And finally she heard angry, unpleasant voices outside, and so without actually thinking about it, Helene dove into the closet, forgetting the coat entirely as she whipped the door closed and cowered in the back.

She could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

A moment later the front door was blown in, and if Helene's throat hadn't closed she would have screamed.

She heard the door close again, and she began to shake.

"Get the upstairs," said a silky voice. "You three that way. I'll check the front of the house and I'll do the spells."

Footsteps went away and she could hear things breaking, people begging and screaming. Helene grasped her own hands together so tightly that she could no longer feel her fingers.

Then the door opened.

A masked, hooded figure in black robes stood in the doorway, looking in at the nearly-empty closet impassively.

"Please," Helene whimpered, not recognizing her own voice. "Please I just wanted to go to school. Please!"

The figure just looked at her impassively.

Finally, it drawled, "How old are you?"

Helene blinked up at him, trying to keep herself collected enough to stay alive.

"I just turned twelve," she sniffed. "Last week."

He watched her even longer, still impassive.

Finally he leaned in, wand out, and she felt sick as she realized that she was to die, just like her family.

Just like her baby brother.

There was the sound of one last, anguished cry and Helene knew when it ended that her father was dead.

Without a second thought she began to cry, quietly and into her hands, but she was surprised when the Death Eater, rather than killing or torturing her, took her arms by the wrist and moved her hands from her face.

"Stay in this corner and be absolutely silent," he muttered, "or I shall have to kill you."

But Helene could not stop sniffling no matter how she tried, and he pointed his wand sharply at her nose and she held her breath, waiting to die, wondering if it would hurt.

"_Silencio_," he hissed, closing the door firmly on her, leaving her in the eerie dark of the closet.

He was letting her live?

That couldn't be.

She listened carefully as he paced in front of her door, muttering incantations she had never heard before. It felt like an hour before the other Death Eaters returned to the entryway, and Helene held her breath unnecessarily, waiting.

"Anyone up here?" one of them asked.

"Empty," her Death Eater drawled. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"They were supposed to have seven brats. We only found six."

"Perhaps you miscounted," her Death Eater said ironically.

After a long pause one of them replied, "No, there were only six. This one should be about eleven or so."

"Then perhaps it is at a friend's home for the night," her Death Eater said lazily. "I believe that is a common pastime for many people of that age during the summer months. Regardless, it is not here. We shall have to look elsewhere."

Helene leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single word.

Finally, another Death Eater said, "I guess we'd better report, then. He won't be pleased."

Helene thought he was quite right about that.

The others seemed to agree, and finally her Death Eater said, "You had better think of a very good explanation, Dolohov, and exactly how you'll beg for mercy."

She imagined that the one called Dolohov was flushing with anger and embarrassment behind his mask because it was pleasant for her to imagine.

"Let's go," one of them finally said and she heard the sounds of shuffling feet, and when the door finally closed behind them she waited for about three minutes in silence, just in case one of them came back for something forgotten, or to check for her again.

Finally, she got onto her knees, carefully turning the knob.

But the door wouldn't budge, magically locked her Death Eater.

Tears began to spill silently down her cheeks as she realized that she was locked in that coat closet, perhaps (she thought melodramatically) locked in there to waste away forever.

Although Helene had her wand in her pocket, she could not say the incantation to unlock the door until someone lifted the Silencing Charm, and in her distress the thought of attempting the nonverbal magic so many adults did without thinking did not occur to her.

Instead, she thought of her family, all lying dead somewhere outside her little cupboard, although in what horrific physical state she could only imagine.

Virginia, with her perfect golden curls and ocean eyes; Virginia, who already had a boyfriend and would surely have become a prefect next; Virginia was dead.

The two girls had quarreled terribly but they had truly loved each other. Helene felt the hole left by Virginia's death most strongly and immediately of all when she began to reflect on the situation she found herself in.

Virginia had known, Helene realized. She had known this might happen. Virginia must have known things Helene would never have even fancied to guess.

And then there was little Leon somewhere, his tiny hands with their tiny plump fingers never again to grasp out at her in a desire to play.

Ely, with her pretty blonde ringlets and her lips which always looked like she was ready to pout when she did not get her way - she probably was pouting somewhere, her face stuck that way as their father had so often teased it would become.

Helene then imagined her brother Charlie, probably growing cold and helplessly without his coat, which she had never finished getting off the hanger. For a brief moment she thought of trying to get it down in the dark, but _why_? She couldn't get out and find him, and she wasn't sure she really wanted to.

Hillary would have been helping with lunch. She'd always fancied herself a cook, although she usually ate more than was helpful for tasting. Her pretty white-blonde hair probably billowed around her pale face like a halo. When they had done little plays as children, of Muggle stories, Hillary had always been given the most innocent parts, and _always_ an angel if one was scripted. Sometimes Virginia would make up a role for an angel if they didn't have enough parts.

Little angel, gone to heaven.

And Heidi, sweet Heidi... Helene didn't get on best with Heidi, but she fancied that she did, fancied she ought to, merely because they were so close in age. Even though Heidi was always happiest when she found a quiet corner for a good book, Helene had dragged her into all manner of imaginary adventures, lately of the two of them at Hogwarts, a dream that would never come true.

Helene then began to think over her parents, her lovely mother and father, and how sorry she was that she'd been so terribly disobedient of late, that she had begun to cry with renewed force when she thought she heard the faint sound of what might have been voices somewhere around the front steps.

"Which one did Albus say we're looking for?"

It was a male voice, not too old, but certainly older than Virginia had been.

Helene frowned.

Albus? Albus Dumbledore? How did he know where she was?

"One of his students; didn't give a name," said another, more unfriendly-sounding voice. Perhaps it was the stress in it.

Helene! Her name was Helene!

She heard them come through the front door and without even stopping to think Helene began to pound on the closet door frantically, even though she knew perfectly well that just knocking would have been fine.

Her door swung open moments later and Helene stumbled forward slightly. She found herself looking up at three young men, wands pointed at her.

"Merlin, she can't be more than thirteen," one of them muttered, his face tired and lined, despite his youth.

"What's your name, love?" the man with dark hair and sharp gray eyes asked kindly, kneeling in front of her and lowering his wand. Helene gapped at him for a moment, wondering how it was possible for a human being to be so beautiful.

Then she tried to mime that she couldn't speak, that she'd been silenced, and she felt rather silly, but the wild-haired man frowned and said in his stressed voice, "I think she might have been silenced."

The tired man waved his wand and Helene blinked.

"Thank you," she squeaked experimentally, and at the sound of her own voice she was surprised that she began to cry in full again.

The beautiful kneeling man wrapped Helene in a warm, comforting, good-smelling hug.

"Padfoot," the wild-haired man murmured nervously, "you take her to Lily. We'll canvas the house."

"Hold tight," the voice of the good-smelling, good-looking one said in her ear, and she felt the familiar, uncomfortable squeezing sensation of Side-Along Apparition.

"Sirius, is she okay?" asked a kind female voice. "I just put Harry down."

"Dunno, she's distressed, which isn't surprising since we found her locked up in a closet."

"Oh," sighed the woman, who had beautiful red hair and brilliant green eyes. "Hello, dear. My name's Lily; what's yours?"

"Helene," she replied with a nervous squeak.

"How old are you, Helene?" Sirius asked to distract her while Lily did a few diagnostic spells.

"T-twelve," Helene choked out. "Newly twelve."

"Hogwarts, then?" Sirius said with a teasing smile. "Gryffindor, I hope."

Without realizing, Helene had pulled a face at the suggestion that she might belong to Gryffindor.

"Sorry," she said quickly as Sirius laughed at her expression. "Only, I'm very proud of being in Hufflepuff, you see, and there's this _stupid_ boy in Gryffindor who always teases me in Herbology."

"He probably just finds you pretty," Lily said wryly, handing a confused Helene two cups with potions in them. Sirius barked with laughter. "These are for shock and hysteria," Lily explained. "Other than that, dear, there's nothing at all wrong with you."

There was a loud sound of a whipcrack and the other two men appeared, faces grim.

"How is she, Lily?" the messy-haired one asked, pecking the pretty redhead on the lips sweetly. "And Harry?"

Helene drank the potions as Lily replied, "Harry's napping and she's fine. Just a bit shocked and distressed."

"I'd better get Dumbledore, then," he sighed, Disapparating on the spot as the tired-looking man sat down on the other side of Helene.

"Tea, Remus?"

"That would be lovely, Lily, thank you," he sighed, smiling at Helene. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thanks," Helene replied, smiling slightly as she felt the surprising truth of the words.

"Would you like tea as well, Helene?" Lily called from the kitchen.

"Yes, please!" Helene replied.

"What, no tea for me?" Sirius asked, feigning hurt and winking at Helene.

"Oh, I've already made you a cup, Sirius," Lily threw back, amusement in her voice.

They drank their tea while they waited and Remus and Sirius did tricks and told stories to delight and entertain Helene until Albus Dumbledore arrived with the messy-haired man.

"Miss Abramsen," Professor Dumbledore said in his soft, firm, and even powerful voice, "please forgive me, but I must ask for your account of events."

Just then, Helene's stomach rumbled, and Lily rushed to make something for the young girl to eat as Helene told, as well as she could recall, every detail from the time her father announced they were leaving for China to the point where she was rescued from her predicament in the cupboard, happily gobbling up the chips and turkey sandwich Lily put in front of Helene on a pretty white plate.

When Helene finished her story, she looked up at Albus Dumbledore's sad blue eyes and said, "Can I stay here until I go to Hogwarts? It's very nice here."

The adults then did that thing which adults do where they all look around at each other, all trying to decide how best to break the bad news, in this case to tell the young girl the thing they knew would upset and disappoint her. Finally, Professor Dumbledore spoke.

"My dear, I must impress upon you that you are still in very grave danger. They are still looking for you, and will kill you if they find you."

"But they won't find me here?" she asked desperately, clinging to Sirius subconsciously, begging to stay.

"I'm afraid it is very possible," Professor Dumbledore said sadly. "I will move you to a safe house until more permanent arrangements can be made, and you will have plenty of company while there. But you cannot go back to Hogwarts, Helene. It is not safe for you to stay in the country. We'll put you somewhere far away, somewhere safe."

"But I don't want to go to China!" Helene cried, weeping bitterly into Sirius's shirt. "I didn't learn my Chinese properly!"

"I won't send you to China, my dear," Dumbledore assured her. "Somewhere you can speak English, I promise you."

The messy-haired one, who she learned was named James, was sent to get Helene's things, with careful instruction from her on which trunk was hers, not Virginia's.

Then Helene was taken to the safe house via Side-Along Apparition with Remus, and he, Lily, and Sirius helped her settle into the strange little house on the sea with one long, straight corridor down the middle and all the rooms adjoining the corridor.

"Here you go, princess," Sirius said happily, showing her into a crisp, clean, white-and-blue bedroom at the end of the hall. "This is yours. Remus and I will be just down the hall, if you need anything."

"Where's Lily?" Helene asked anxiously, looking around the room.

"She's making dinner, dear," Remus said, smoothing her silky blonde hair gently. There was a loud crack. "That'll be James with your things."

Indeed it was, and for all the time it had taken her to pack, it took no time at all for Helene to get settled.

Over the next three days, all four of Helene's new friends played with her in turn, and sometimes a big black dog she'd dubbed 'Snuffles' visited, although Remus wouldn't say to whom he belonged, just "One of the Order."

It was on the third night when they had all five just finished one of Lily's delicious pastas, that Albus Dumbledore finally visited the safe house.

"I have news," he told Helene. "A very kind family in Australia has made preparations to take you in. Owen and Aurora Little. They have children around your age; Phoenix, William, Jade, and Luke I believe they're called. All boys, and they've always wanted a little girl. They live in Perth."

Helene looked up at him, scarcely understanding what he was saying. Australia? Why, that was on the other side of the world! And she wanted to stay at the safe house with Remus and Sirius and Snuffles.

But Helene knew it would do no good to argue, so she nodded and trudged off to pack her things once more, hoping she very much liked the Littles, that the boys did not pick on her, and that she could have a dog just like Snuffles one day.

It took several hours to pack, as Helene took short breaks to cry and each of her new friends came in to say goodbye in turns. Even Snuffles came in right after Sirius left. Snuffles must have sensed she was leaving because he placed his head on her lap and whimpered terribly until she leaned down to hug his neck. He then kissed her face thoroughly until Remus came in looking especially sad.

"Come on, Snuffles," he told the dog firmly, who had begun to whine again. "She needs to get all packed."

Sirius later surprised her by coming in a second time, hugging her tightly, and saying, "You take care of yourself, princess. I hope you come right back to England when this is all over."

When everything had been taken care of, Helene took the international portkey Professor Dumbledore had set down on the table with dread. She took one last deep breath of English air, clutched her trunk ever tighter, and hoped that Australia would be a happy place.


	2. April, 1995

At twenty-four, Helene 'Little' had finally garnered enough courage to apply for an international portkey.

She was going home for the first time since fleeing England.

Packing had been a depressing venture for Helene since childhood, and it was with very mixed emotions that she closed her trunk, magically adjusted so she could pack all her things.

She was never going back to Perth.

That wasn't to say that she hadn't enjoyed her time there. The boys had been wonderful, and the Littles had done everything they could for their adopted daughter, but they could not give her all she wanted.

They could not give her closure.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked William, watching her with an unreadable expression.

But Helene did not need to read his expression to know that the twenty-eight-year-old was hoping she would show some hint of doubt.

Helene knew that her adopted brother was in love with her. It had nothing at all to do with anything about her, and had everything to do with the fact that she looked remarkably like him.

Indeed, Helene had grown up very pretty, with soft blonde hair and sea-green eyes. Her skin was slightly tanned, with a few delicate trails nose. She had a petite frame, her head reaching only to the height of William's armpits. And it was often said that they would make a beautiful couple.

Perhaps they would have, had Helene been able to see him as anything but a brother.

In spite of her desire to find her Death Eater, to thank him, Helene had not gone back to England when Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Lily and James were dead, and Sirius had been convicted as a brutal mass murderer. She'd found that impossible to reconcile with the kind, caring man she'd been rescued by, but who would listen to a little girl?

She stayed with the Littles because it was still very dangerous in England, and Helene really had nowhere to go.

In fact, she had almost gone back nearly two years ago when Mr. Little died, but Sirius Black broke out of prison and Mrs. Little was in such a fit of distress that Helene decided she ought to stay in Australia.

But Mrs. Little had been dead and buried for a month and now only William was actually opposed to her leaving, albeit selfishly so.

"I have to," Helene said, glad the other boys had taken the goodbye well. "I need to find him."

"He could be dead," William said gently, putting his hands on her bare shoulders and running them down her upper arms. "Or in Azkaban."

William always said these things as if she didn't know perfectly well that they might be true.

"I just need to, William," Helene sighed, letting him entertain himself by resting his head on the back of hers, breathing in deeply, probably smelling her hair. Everything he did was so theatrical. "I don't belong here."

"You belong with me."

Helene rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't be sappy enough to try to kiss her today.

William let her shift so she could carry her trunk out to the kitchen, where the portkey was waiting, although he followed her out.

"You'll write, yeah?" he asked as she poured herself a quick glass of juice.

"A bit," Helene said with a shrug. "I imagine you'll forget all about me in a few years anyway."

William gave a nervous chuckle and she looked up at him with surprise, raising an eyebrow in question as she drank her juice.

"I want you to marry me," he said firmly, as if the chuckle hadn't happened.

Helene nearly dropped her half empty glass, but she drank the rest without pause to buy a sliver of time.

This had all gone too far.

"William... I'm a bit young to get married," she reasoned, although she really didn't believe this, and he knew it.

"People get married at seventeen every day," he countered. "You've been out of school for seven years. You're hardly a child."

Helene sighed.

"William, I'm going to _England_. It's half a world away."

"Yes, but when you find your closure," he said hopefully. "When you come back to Australia..."

His pretty blue-green eyes shone at her and she couldn't help thinking of how romantic this would be if there were any real emotions in it.

"I'm not coming back to Australia."

William just stared at her for a long moment.

Thinking about it, she had never actually said as much out loud, although she thought the matter was strongly implied by the fact that she had packed all of her belongings and had her funds transferred to a vault in England. Phoenix, Jake, and Luke all seemed to understand, but somehow William, living in his fantasy world, had missed all the rather obvious signs.

"Oh," he finally said pathetically as she rinsed her cup and put it in the sink. "Right."

She would have felt terribly sorry for him if she only had the time and energy for that sort of thing.

Instead, she kept glancing nervously at the clock and the bit of string on the table.

Missing her portkey would be more than disappointing and frustrating now. It would be downright awkward.

Helene checked the clock once more and her hand grasped the bit of string, knowing that her portkey would leave in less than a minute.

As she always did when catching a portkey, Helene closed her eyes forcefully. William, perhaps purposefully forgetting her custom, touched her cheek.

He was going to try and kiss her before she left.

Helene held her breath, trying to move her face away from his without alerting him to what she was doing.

Thankfully, before his lips hit hers, she felt the tugging sensation behind her navel and clutched her trunk even tighter, trying to focus on landing on her feet, not wanting to be embarrassed when first landing on British soil.

The landing was rough, but she did land on her feet, and the Ministry wizard who greeted her pointed for her to toss her string in a bucket, which she did.

"Name?" the man prompted.

"Helene Rosaline Abramson," she replied firmly, and the man put a tick mark by her name.

"Country of origin?"

She blinked.

"Well, I was born in England, but I've just come from Australia."

The man scribbled something down, then directed Helene to the Apparition point.

Once she got there, she realized that she really didn't know where she was going to go. She waited in line for a moment. She smiled because she recalled the little house by the sea. Closing her eyes, fixing her childhood memories in her mind as she turned on her heel, feeling the sensation of being through a pipe, she Apparated.

She landed and stumbled slightly, still barely a wave of what was happening.

IT was then that she felt a wand at her throat.

Helene looked into a face that had been so degraded with age that she very nearly didn't recognize it, but at seeing those familiar amber eyes...

Remus.

"Who are you?" he growled. "How did you find this place?"

"Remus," she breathed, eyes wide. He frowned at her.

"Who are you?" he demanded again.

"H-Helene Abramson," she said, still staring at him. "I-I'm back. From Australia. I-I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."

His eyes searched her face for a long moment before recognition dawned on him. In that moment he put his wand away and grasped her shoulders, tears welling up in his eyes.

"You're alive," he murmured. "We all thought... I mean, I thought... When you didn't come back..."

"I'm alive," she assured him, smiling. "And as it happens, I'm also starving. You wouldn't happen to have any food on you?"

Remus laughed and led her into the familiar kitchen, where he began making breakfast.

"I can't believe it's you!" he laughed, putting a plate of eggs and potatoes in front of her. "How is Australia?"

"Oh, it was lovely," Helene said, pouring herself some tea with a smile. She told him all about the Littles, and school in Australia, and her job as a maker of magical household objects.

"I - I have to ask," she said slowly. "Sirius..."

Remus hesitated for a long moment. Then he put down his silverware and said, "Sirius is innocent. I didn't believe it at first, but he was framed by someone else, someone we'd thought was our friend. We even captured him, hoping to get Sirius his freedom, but Peter got away."

Helene felt quite sad at this, more so than when her adoptive parents had passed away.

"So he's still on the run," she sighed. "For a crime he didn't commit. How tragic."

"Yes, it really is," Remus agreed somberly.

They sat eating in silence for a while as Helene looked around the room, marveling at how little had changed.

"So, you live here?" she asked casually.

"Yes," Remus replied, blushing slightly. "Yes, I am lucky to get a job, and I rarely keep them long, so Albus lets me stay here to cut down on my expenses."

She saw that his clothes were shabby, worn through, and in desperate need of being replaced. She supposed he must be hard off indeed, to not be able to afford new clothes even when not paying rent.

"Forgive me," she said, unable in her curiosity. "But why so hard to get work?"

He looked down at his plate, smiling wryly at it as though sharing some unfortunate joke with the cutlery to which she could not be privy. Then he said, "I'm a werewolf."

At first, Helene was shocked and repulsed, but then she reasoned that he was really only a monster once a month, and the same had been said of her. Not to mention he seemed to have already suffered quite enough for it without adding her own initial reaction to the mix. So she covered his hand in hers empathetically.

"But never mind that," Remus said with a forced smile. "Have you ever heard anything about the Triwizard Tournament?"

Helene, in fact, had not heard very much about it, so they went over the fascinating details that had thus far transpired.

When they finished Helene frowned and said, "Something just feels... oh, I dunno, bleak and wrong about it all. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Remus said with a small frown. "I've been thinking that for a while, too. Sirius sees omens in everything, but I'd like to think we're all just paranoid from fighting a war for so long."

"Except," Helene said solemnly, "except that I thought it as well, and I didn't fight in a war."

They exchanged dark looks and then got up abruptly to wash the dishes, falling easily into a perfect symmetry, his washing, her drying.

"Wine?" he asked when they'd finished putting the plates in the cupboard.

"Yes, please," Helene sighed, sitting down again when he poured the wine, handing her a glass with the air of someone who'd done the same motion hundreds of times. "Past life as a bartender?" she joked, clinking her glass with his.

He smiled sadly and said, "Sort of. I ran drinks at the parties in school because I felt it was my duty as a prefect to have the power to cut people off when they'd had too much." They both laughed. "So, why come back to England? Why now?"

Helene gave a wry sort of smile and shrugged one shoulder.

"I've been thinking of coming back for years, but Mrs. Little couldn't stand the thought, so I waited until she died. But I want to find the Death Eater who saved me and thank him."

Remus nodded at her thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "Well, I suppose you haven't got much to go on, do you? Where do you plan to start?"

Helene was relieved that he didn't start by telling her it was impossible, or that she was being childish.

"Ah, I'm really not sure, actually," she said with a nervous laugh. "I think the first step will be figuring out where I'm going to stay."

Remus's eyes grew wide and he said, "Oh, you've nowhere to stay? Don't be silly! You can stay here! You _must_ stay here! I can't imagine making you pay for a bed while there are plenty here!"

"Well, I suppose there's that taken care of, then," Helene teased. "You know, I'm not sure what to do next, but I'm sure it will come to me sooner or later. Hey, maybe we could see the Final Task!"

Remus gave her a tired smile.

"Perhaps we could," he assented.

He told her that she'd quite outgrown the pretty bed she'd stayed in as a child.

"You can have Sirius's old room," he said with a smile that looked as though it was trying to decide whether or not to be a truly happy smile.

"I always liked that room," Helene offered, trying to brighten him up.

"Let me put your trunk away," Remus offered, hopping up and carrying her things before Helene had a chance to even half-refuse the chivalrous action. She moved over to a little brown book, leather-bound, sitting on a side table. Just from the wear of the cover Helene could see that the book had been regularly and amply handled. It was an album of old photographs, the earliest ones clearly from Remus's early Hogwarts days, the most recent just months after she'd fled the country. A few were even from her stay with them, playing with Snuffles, Sirius, James.

"Oh," she said hastily replacing the album when Remus walked in. "Sorry. Curiosity."

"It's all right," Remus insisted with a tired smile, sitting down beside her and glancing at the album. "I really don't mind. You know my biggest secret, so I don't see the point in hiding anything." After a short, embarrassed pause, however, he said, "So, what was school like in Australia?"

Helene proceeded to tell him about her awful classmates, Lauralynn Miller and Amy Taylor, and how Professor Isabelle Hall gave Helene regular detentions.

"I doubt it was _really_ because you were the only one who could properly prune a flutterby bush," Remus laughed skeptically.

"No, it _was_!" Helene insisted. "Every three months like clockwork! She would have called me in during holidays if she could have gotten away with it."

In return, Remus regaled her with the tales of the youthful Marauders and their many shenanigans.

"And then he dumped Johanna Carter for Kiki Turner-"

"The girl who tried to slip him the love potion?"

"No, no, that was Melissa Stewart. Ravenclaw, batty as they come. She tried to drug him with a virus once, too, so she could nurse him back to health Professor McGonagall was livid."

Helene shook her head, imagining the look on the matronly professor's face as yet another law was broken because someone wanted to see Sirius Black starkers.

"Was he _really_ that attractive?" she mused aloud. "I mean, really _that_ special? I don't recall wanting to snog him senseless."

"You _were_ twelve," Remus reminded her, an amused smile turning up the corners of his mouth gently. "Most girls seemed to think he was. Even Lily admitted once that he was unfairly attractive."

"I dunno," Helene said with a frown. "My adoptive brother was like that. A bit _too_ perfect. _Too_ good looking..."

"Some people would call you the same," he replied so solemnly that Helene actually flushed.

"My point is, I prefer _real_ men," she insisted quickly. "You know, ones with flaws, ones with a bit of roughness. I don't want to shag plastic."

Remus turned pink so slightly that Helene had nearly convinced herself she'd imagined it when he spluttered, "Well, he's not flawless anymore."

"No," Helene said slowly, sadly. "Azkaban."

She'd seen the pictures of the mad, gaunt, waxy face that still hinted at the handsomeness it once was. It was still so hard to believe that the crazed photograph was _her_ Sirius, the kind man who cried when she had to leave England.

"Twelve years is a long time to waste away slowly," Remus said, as if answering her thoughts. "I'm honestly not sure where he is at the moment, but hopefully somewhere he can eat well. Being on the run has been an improvement for his health, but Azkaban cannot be shaken off easily."

"No," Helene whispered. "I can't imagine it would be."

She wondered, setting down her long-empty wine glass, whether her Death Eater wasn't rotting in a cell in the North Sea, looking a lot like Sirius's photograph, wasting away, skin stretching over an eerie, animated skeleton and eyes so dead and dull that it was hard to be sure if they were dead or alive. She shivered a little as Remus cleaned and replaced the wine glasses.

"I suppose your hours are off," Remus said slowly, concentrating hard as if doing maths in his head. "Is it nearly bed time for you?"

She _did_ feel tired, and she realized he was almost certainly right.

As if to prove he was right, a yawn hit her at precisely that moment, answering the question for her and prompting Remus to usher her down the hallway, hands shaking excitedly as he ushered her into Sirius's once-bedroom.

"A nap will do good," Remus insisted. "I hope you're comfortable. If anything's wrong I can find you another room-"

"I'm sure it's lovely, Remus," Helene cut off sitting down on the bed. "Really, there's no need to fuss. I'm perfectly fine."

Remus eventually left her alone in the half-strange room to kick off her shoes and stare at the ceiling.

She thought, for a moment, about William, who had probably already forgotten his cheesy proposal and was searching for someone else to complete his image of himself.

Helene then turned on her side and breathed in the lingering scent of cologne. It took her back to twelve years old, hugging goodbye Sirius Black. IT was an almost-familiar, spicy scent that she couldn't quite recall the name of. His gray eyes flashed in her mind and she smiled slightly, forgetting that those beautiful, expressive eyes would now be haunted by the deadening horrors of Azkaban.

England had changed more than Helene had really been able to realize. Not just hat it was no longer at war, which she had clearly known, but it also that it had changed for her.

Harry Potter, the boy she had seen only briefly when he was a baby, who had seemed to her twelve-year-old self to be so unspectacular as to be barely worth notice, was fourteen and fighting in a dangerous tournament. Helene shuddered when she thought that Virginia had died at fourteen.

Remus fluttered across her mind, then: the kindness he still showed her, the comfort of his presence, the generosity of giving her a place to stay. Helene invented in her mind that he had kissed her cheek as they'd said goodnight, despite knowing how absurd the very scene was.

Then she thought her usual vague thoughts about her Death Eater. Was he living in prison, surrounded by only his worst memories? Was he living in luxury, perhaps weaseling out of his sins as so many had? Was he living at all?

She'd spent years trying to recover the memory of his smooth voice, but it was never quite right. Usually this failure distressed her, as the voice was really the only clue Helene had. However, this night she found herself a bit too tired to really analyze her own dismay or disadvantage. Instead, she breathed in deeply the comfortable cologne of Sirius Black and dreamed, happily, of Snuffles.


	3. May, 1995, I

By early May, Remus and Helene had fallen into a very comfortable sort of routine. They woke up at virtually the same time, showered, dressed, etc. They almost always walked down the hall to the kitchen together, greeting each other with friendly, "Good mornings." Remus would make bacon and toast, Helene would fry eggs and set the table. Remus put the kettle on as they took their breakfast almost exactly the same, with only a bit more butter on her toast than his.

They would then eat, do the dishes, and find some way to pass the morning. Usually this consisted of Remus reading the _Daily Prophet_ and Helene going through the trial records Remus had found for her, detailing the various public-record fates of known and suspected male Death Eaters. Occasionally Remus would enlist her for a part of his crossword, or Helene would ask about a Death Eater whose file had gaps, but typically they were more or less silent until lunch.

Remus always made lunch, because Helene would forget it entirely if he didn't, and work straight through to dinner. He did mostly basic things, like salads or sandwiches, but after a long morning of sifting through dusty files Helene was always grateful for whatever he put on the plate in front of her.

They would then proceed to work through the afternoon as well, Remus doing his job hunt and Helene continuing her sifting. As they were both by-and-large unsuccessful, this was usually a bit bleaker than the morning, and both were grateful when the clock would strike five and Helene could make them whatever quick-and-cheap dinner she had ingredients and inspiration for that night.

Sometimes Remus would help make dinner, other nights he would read files out loud to her as she worked. The latter was usually if she'd come across something interesting, like someone accused of being involved in her family's murder.

They would then eat dinner, discuss the level of fruitfulness of the day, wash the dishes, and retire to the study for a glass of wine and a game or two of wizard's chess.

When the chess was done they said goodnight and went their separate ways, only to begin the cycle once more in the morning.

They were half-way between lunch and dinner on a particularly noteworthy day when Helene looked down at her notes and sighed. There were simply too many people convicted for her family's death, and far too many accused. A dozen people had been present, at most, but she now had a list of twenty convicted men, and counting. How many wrongly convicted? How many had got away?

The time inched forward, frustrating Helene, who had more or less given it all up as a bad day and wanted an excuse to be done for the night.

She picked up the next file, DOLOHOV, ANTONIN, and frowned at it, turning it over without opening it. Her memory stirred.

"Were there many Dolohovs, Remus?" she asked, running her thumb thoughtfully along the spine of the file.

Remus looked up from the cover letter he was frantically penning and frowned.

"Not that I recall. He'd been a few years ahead of me in school-"

"Antonin?"

"Yes. His mother died in childbirth and his father died a few years after Antonin graduated Hogwarts. There were rumors, of course, that Antonin couldn't wait for his inheritance." Remus made a face. "If he had cousins or uncles I don't recall them. Why? Do you think it was _him_? It seems unlikely."

"No, it wasn't him," Helene admitted with a nod. "But he was there." Remus jolted upright abruptly, scattering his papers a bit. "I remember my Death Eater berating him. Dolohov was the one who pointed out that one child was missing. My Death Eater seemed to treat Dolohov as though he were responsible for the failure." She paled, opening the file, flipping through it frantically.

"He's in Azkaban," Remus said gently. "Don't worry. You're safe."

But Helene still shuddered as she looked at the final page of Dolohov's file. He'd been charged with many things, including killing her family. But that one charge that she knew he was guilty of he'd been cleared of.

How many cases had the Ministry bungled?

Helene rubbed her eyes, fighting back tears. She knew Remus was watching her, and finally she said, "He was cleared. He butchered my family and he was cleared of it. This is _hopeless_, Remus. The record is so flawed I'll never know who was really there."

She picked up a file that read SNAPE, SEVERUS and began flipping leisurely through.

"It's difficult," Remus said softly, "but it's not hopeless until you give up. We have one fact, at least. He'd worked with Dolohov. The inner circle. Voldemort didn't let them all know each other, you see, because then if one betrayed them for any reason he could only betray some. But Dolohov was in the inner circle, said so himself during the trial. Give me your list and I'll mark the ones known or suspected to be from the inner circle. That's your starting point."

Helene thanked him, handing him her list of those convicted for her family's deaths as she sifted through the file of Severus Snape. It was even looking like a promising file until she reached the last page and read, "Cleared on all charges by special evidence of Albus Dumbledore."

She sighed, scribbled him down on the 'cleared' list, and pushed aside the file, pulling COOK, TORKEL towards her and sifting through the pages.

"This is ridiculous," Remus finally muttered as he glanced through all her notes. "The people convicted in your case are people they couldn't pin to anything else. This is insulting and disgusting." He crumpled the list. "I doubt any of these people were even there. Do you have a list of the ones who got off?"

She pushed her other list toward him and he plucked up his quill, ticking off several names as he scanned the page and said, "This is more like it."

Helene saw him hesitate as she dismissed Torkel Cook's file before making a dot beside one of the names. A few moments later he handed her the list once more.

"Ticks are confirmed," Remus said. "Dots are suspected."

Helene's eyes grazed the list looking for dots, trying to find the person Remus had hesitated over. Severus Snape; Barty Crouch, Jr.; and Portellus Nott were all suspected.

"Nott," she said.

"Year ahead of me in school. Quiet," Remus said slowly. "A prefect, actually. I wouldn't have marked him, but all of his closest friends were in the inner circle. It proves nothing, but highly suspect. He's free."

"Crouch."

Remus frowned.

"He was younger than me, but I can't recall how much. He was very bright. The only thing he was even charged with other than your family's deaths he was convicted on, and it was a particularly heinous act committed with some of Voldemort's favorites. But we know nothing of his status with Voldemort, despite how it looks. He's dead, died in Azkaban. If I had to guess, though, he wasn't there when your family was killed."

"Snape," Helene said, feeling the strange name on her tongue.

"He was certainly a Death Eater," Remus said deliberately, as though trying not to say the wrong thing. "He's admitted as much. We... we were the same year at school. How deep he went I don't honestly know, but he was certainly talented and disciplined enough."

"If he's an admitted Death eater," Helene pressed, puzzled, "then _how_ did he get cleared of all charges? What evidence does Professor Dumbledore have?"

"I don't know. But he trusts Severus, and if Dumbledore trusts him, that's good enough for me."

But Helene began to wonder on Dumbledore's judgment, on his _evidence_. After all, he gave evidence against Sirius Black to have him convicted without a trial for a crime he didn't actually commit. Had Dumbledore distrusted Sirius then, wrongfully? Was he wrong in trusting Snape now?

Without knowing both sets of evidence Helene couldn't even know whether the cases were truly comparable, but she knew one thing for certain.

Dumbledore made mistakes.

Before she could fall too deeply into her musings, however, the clock struck five and Helene and Remus moved to the kitchen habitually.

"Tell me about the paper," Helene said, placing vegetables out and putting knives down beside them, waving her wand to begin the chopping. Remus set the table.

"Not much to tell," he sighed. "It was a slow news day. No more than a blurb on Bertha Jorkins to even mention."

"Who?" Helene asked, putting pasta in a pot and tapping to bring it to a boil.

"Ah, Bertha Jorkins," Remus replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "She was a few years ahead of me in school. She's worked as a secretary in a few different Ministry departments. She was on holiday in Albania visiting family with she disappeared without a trace. Her current boss, Ludo Bagman, doesn't seem too concerned even though she's been missing for months. He says she's absent-minded and will turn up any day. But as I recall Bertha, she was anything _but_ absent. Not very bright, no, but she was a perennial gossip and remembered all sorts of minutia."

"Gone for months?" Helene muttered, frowning as she strained the pasta. "Probably safe to assume she's _not_ coming back."

"Oh, Sirius is sure that she's dead," Remus agreed. "I'd like to say there's still hope, but he's probably right. Anyway, if I remember correctly, Albania was where Quirinus Quirrell when on sabbatical, and that was nothing short of horrific in the end."

"Who's Quirinus Quirrell?" Helene pressed, heating the butter and garlic sauce carefully as she waved her wand to peel the prawns.

"Ah, former Hogwarts professor," Remus informed her, pouring them some wine. "He taught Muggle Studies, took a year off to study dark creatures in Albania, and returned to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. According to Dumbledore, Voldemort attached himself to Quirrell's soul and lived on the back of his head all year trying to get back his own body. Quirrell's dead. Maybe Voldemort retreated back to Albania again."

Helene shuddered. Devouring souls, people on people's heads... she was almost glad she'd been away for years.

"But why Albania?" she asked, tossing the sauce over the pasta, coating the noodles in the slick, garlicky sauce. "I mean it's a bit far away. There must be something special about it."

"Oh, I imagine there is, but I haven't a clue what it might be." Remus replied, putting a hot pad on the table so the hot pasta bowl wouldn't damage the finely finished wood. "I suppose Dumbledore knows."

"Perhaps," Helene replied as she mixed the prawns and vegetables. But she kept repeating in her mind that Dumbledore didn't know everything. Suddenly England seemed far less safe than it had when she'd left Australia.

She tossed a quick salad and heated some bread before carefully laying out dinner and sitting down across from Remus, who began by dishing up _her_ plate, as usual.

"I suppose all this about Voldemort is worrying you," he said softly. "But the war is over."

How many times a day did he tell himself that to keep the nightmares away?

"Of course I'm worried," Helene sniffed as if it were nothing at all to be concerned about Voldemort. "But I'm not about to leave, if that's what you think. England is my home, and I intend to find that Death Eater."

Remus nodded and they ate in near-silence for several minutes, the clinking of forks and knives and plates on the air. Helene had to keep herself from pouring more wine, refusing to give Remus any reason to believe that she was upset.

"I suppose you've found some job prospects?" Helene finally asked politely.

He shifted in his seat a little.

"Not as such," he sighed. "Not yet. It would be easier if there weren't so many restrictions on werewolves. I've thought on being a private tutor, but I'd have to be very up front and get an incredibly progressive family."

"And that hasn't happened because...?"

"Most private tutors work in Muggle-born cases, and I can't imagine Muggle parents reacting favorably to the word 'werewolf,' can you?"

"No, no, I suppose you're right about that," Helene agreed sadly. She picked at her salad for a moment, shifting it around on her plate. Then she said, "Are you frightened?"

For a long moment, Remus didn't answer. When he did, he said, "Logically, there's really nothing to be frightened _of_. Most people living in fear at the moment are afraid of Sirius murdering them in their beds." He hesitated, then continued. "But I'm afraid _for_ Sirius. I'm afraid for Harry. And... and in spite of my better judgment, I'm afraid that everything I try to convince myself is paranoia might actually be war instinct or werewolf senses or... or something like that. I mean, life _just_ gave me back reasons to live and then it threatens to take them all away from me again."

He flushed when he realized how much he'd said and they fell into another long silence in which he pretended to be fascinated with his fork, and she with the edge of her plate. Finally, Helene spoke.

"What changed?" she asked carefully. "What reasons to live?"

"Harry," Remus said thoughtfully, "who is a constant reminder of his parents. Sirius, who is the only thing left to me of the best years of my life. And... and you, of course."

"Me?"

Remus gave her a sad smile.

"The one thing we did right that wasn't tainted by Peter. You've ended up better than when we found you. And if things go truly bad, I could lose all three of you at once. I – I felt helpless at the end of the war, but to lose it all again... I would truly be left with nothing."

Helene knew exactly how that felt, that moment of knowing that everything in the world that matters is being destroyed. She could not find her voice to say so, but the look she gave Remus spelled out plainly how she understood his plight.

Loss left a hole that could never _truly_ be filled.

They finished dinner quickly, cleaning their dishes without a word and Helene put them away while Remus poured more wine. She saw that he poured more than usual for himself and she felt guilty for asking such difficult questions.

He waved his wand to start a fire in the grate as she set up the chessboard.

Helene had never particularly cared which color she played, but this was Remus's set and he had told her early on that he always played black. He'd developed a rapport with the pieces over the years he'd owned the set, and he always seemed to beat her thoroughly. Especially because no matter how many times they played, the white pieces never trusted her ability to make a decision.

The first round, Remus beat her quickly and easily. He then poured himself another glass of wine and she watched him reset the pieces with concern.

"Have I..." she began cautiously. "Have I upset you?"

Remus looked up at her startled.

"Whatever do you mean?" he insisted. Helene gestured to the nearly-empty wine bottle at his side. Remus glanced at the bottle and gave a hoarse laugh. "Oh, that. No, don't worry. Alcohol isn't as strong for werewolves and other dark creatures. It would take a _lot_ of wine bottles for me to drink away my troubles. No, I just happen to particularly like this vintage. Would you like the rest?"

"No, thank you," Helene murmured, both concerned with drinking more than her body was used to and disconcerted by the note of insincerity in Remus's voice when he'd spoken of the vintage. Perhaps she'd imagined it, but it made her spine tingle in the same way as when he all but called himself a dark creature.

"You can't put me _there_!" her knight cried as she made to move it. "Don't you see his castle? I'll be doomed!"

Helene sighed.

That _had_ been more or less the idea. She'd never met a more selfish set of pieces in all her life.

When Helene pointed this out to Remus, he laughed.

"Those were Sirius's pieces, mainly," he reminisced. "Lily _hated_ them. He was very proud of them, though, for whatever reason. He didn't often win, but when he did, he did so _spectacularly_."

Helene smiled a little.

"For a while, after he was arrested," Remus went on, frowning slightly, "I would stare at this chess set and use the selfishness he'd taught the pieces to justify his guilt. Sacrifice anyone but himself. But he wasn't _really_ like that. Quidditch, Order missions, Marauder shenanigans... He was always the first to take one for the team, especially where James was concerned. It took a while to convince myself that one chess set – which was really more for a laugh than anything – was more indicative of his character than everything else I knew. But twelve years is a long time. It becomes easier to forget what's important when months become years."

Helene put a hand over Remus's hand, hastily blinking away her own tears.

"You know the truth now," she said firmly. "That's what really matters, right?"

Remus nodded numbly and she got the feeling he'd told himself those words a time or two before.

Finishing the chess match was a quiet affair after that, as if even the chess pieces could recognize the somber atmosphere and held in all remarks. When Helene realized she'd won she was shocked, and then she realized Remus was too distracted to play properly.

Without a word about her hollow victory, she packed away the chess set and put it on its usual shelf before joining Remus by the fire.

"I hope you find him," Remus said softly as she sat down. "Your Death Eater. I hope you find closure."

She looked up at Remus cautiously, the tired and many lines on his face harshly jumping out in the firelight, accentuating the anger in his amber eyes.

"What would bring you closure?" Helene asked.

"If Peter could ever suffer enough," Remus whispered, "to amount to all of the pain and suffering he has caused others, then I could be at peace. But I don't know that it's possible, and I certainly don't have the power to make it happen."

"My Death Eater could be dead," she told him after a long moment. "Or in Azkaban, suffering. And then I might never get to thank him properly, and I might have to live with knowing that he was punished in spite of the good he'd done." She swallowed back tears and continued. "And then, he might be alive and free, and how could I thank a man who insists he had no control over his actions during the events in question, when I know it's all a lie? How do I sleep, knowing that a man like that is walking free in spite of his crimes? And I can't walk away because I have nowhere else to turn, nothing else to devote myself to. No matter how this ends, Remus, I don't think I'll ever fully have closure."

They sat in silence for a moment, but for the wood crackling in the fire.

"Perhaps there is some scenario you are overlooking," he told her gently.

Helene didn't think so, but she replied, "Perhaps you have overlooked something, too."

He gave her a smile that screamed plainly how it was a charity smile, filled with a false hopefulness he could never feel or embrace.

The two of them watched the fire die down slowly, thinking of things to explain their despair more properly to each other but saying nothing at all.

Finally, clock struck eleven and Helene found herself barely capable of keeping her eyes open. Remus took the wine glass from her hand, washed and replaced the glasses, and returned to say, "I think it's time for bed."

Helene nodded sleepily, dragging herself to her feet, allowing herself to lean on Remus without even really thinking of it. They walked down the hall to their rooms and paused outside their doors.

"Good night," Helene murmured sleepily, but her words were cut off by a pair of lips pressing to her own and a hand squeezing hers.

It was all over as quickly as it had begun. Remus said goodnight and they went into their separate rooms. Helene peeled off her clothes and put on a blue silk nightgown, brushing her teeth and hair, washing her face. She'd just climbed into bed when it hit her.

Remus had kissed her good night.

It had been a sweet, quick, unassuming peck, unlike all the times William had tried to kiss her. As she played it back in her mind her lips began to tingle and she could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth before their lips met.

What had he meant by it?

Remus was a man who remembered her as a child. He was a reminder of her childhood just as she was a reminder of the last days of almost-happiness before the world ripped apart.

Perhaps it was too much wine, or how tired they were, or maybe it hadn't happened at all and she was imagining the whole thing, like the kiss on the cheek she had fabricated when she first started sleeping in the house again.

"No," Helene whispered into the darkness. "I don't think I could imagine a thing like that."

She then blushed when she thought of werewolf hearing, wondering just how good it really was, if he'd heard what she'd just said, if he could hear her heart racing.

Or perhaps he was already asleep and not listening at all. Perhaps he wouldn't even remember in the morning.

But what had he _meant_ by it? Why had he _done_ it?

Even though moments earlier she'd been exhausted, Helene sat up under her covers, wide awake and staring at the sliver of moonlight through the blinds. When the full moon came he would go off again to some place he wouldn't tell her about to transform remotely and safely.

Helene had always worried, but now she could feel her palms beginning to sweat as she thought of his transformation with dread. Would he be all right? What if he hurt himself? Who would take care of him?

Helene sat up a bit straighter and began to ask herself, as many young woman who had no real experience with romantic love might do, if she could be falling in love with Remus Lupin.

She certainly felt _something_, which was far more than she could say about William.

But there was not an overwhelming sense of passion she had always subconsciously expected. She hadn't even noticed in the moment that he had kissed her.

Helene found herself wishing she'd listened a bit more to her mother and Mrs. Little when they'd talked about boys and love and so on. Maybe she would have a better idea of how to handle the situation she now found herself in. What was a girl supposed to do?

She rolled over onto her side.

No, there was no figuring it out tonight. Better to sleep.


End file.
